


Feast Day

by halsinator



Series: a species of revolution [2]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), M/M, Magic, Top!Segundus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4708208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halsinator/pseuds/halsinator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of an assassination attempt on Childermass, Segundus slightly falls apart. Meanwhile, Starecross prepares for a holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feast Day

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the kinkmeme for someone who wanted Segundus topping Childermass. HERE YOU GO.

John Segundus had always supposed that the shooting of an unarmed man in central London must be regarded as a very shocking and exceptional thing. Certainly there were young men who indulged in duels, indeed amongst a particular set it remained somewhat the done thing, but these men were not so foolish as to arrange their assignations so that they occurred in the very street. And what other reason might there be for a public shooting? Surely only something so outlandish and indeed once-in-a-lifetime as magic, or madness, or, or, or, or, or— 

Well: leaving aside assassination, of course.

Or attempted assassination, as would have been very obvious were it not that the instant Segundus saw blood, a part of his mind quite ceased to function. Possibly this was the part that dealt with time, because he had a sense of time suddenly coming and going in jerks. One moment he was turning in an ordinary fashion, and then his hand seemed to move very slowly. Then several minutes had passed somehow, all at once, and he was kneeling on the cobblestones with bloody hands, twisting two ladies' hatpins together into the shape of a crooked cross. He was amazed that something so sensible was occurring, but he thought it could not possibly have anything to do with him, because his head had gone very cavernous and crystalline and empty. Certainly it did not contain the form of Pale's _Restoration and Rectification_. Yet at the same time evidently it did, for he was performing the magic, and the blood was ceasing, flowing backwards into the broken skin, and the skin was not broken, so there was no visible wreck of muscle under it, and—

And Childermass was blinking at him.

The hatpins dropped through trembling fingers, and Segundus was standing, shaking badly, backing away, surrounded by loud voices, and someone was taking his arm, and for a moment he had the astounding idea that it was Jonathan Strange, and that Strange was going to say to him, "Really, John, I cannot believe you are finding this so difficult as you say you are; it is quite simple," which would be the most preposterous nonsense coming from him, given his own rather notorious behaviour after—

But of course it was not Strange; it was John Hobhouse, at whom Childermass had just a moment ago been directing quite a sneering look, and Hobhouse was saying, "Sir, are you all right, sir," with a pale expression, which was plainly ridiculous, as Segundus was not the one who— which, surely Hobhouse could see— and then, of all odd things, _Vinculus_ was there, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and steering him to a doorstep, which Segundus folded himself onto, hugging his knees.

"He'll be all right," Vinculus said, sounding resolutely cheerful. "Nothing that can stop him, is there? And I do mean nothing!" He winked as though he had communicated some sly secret meaning. He sat beside Segundus in a companionable manner, patting his back while Segundus struggled to recall how to breathe.

Segundus thought there was a great deal that could stop Childermass. He was imagining it all at once in vivid detail currently. He was too slow; the bullet was too destructive; he was in Yorkshire; he was not there; he forgot the magic; he froze— had he forgotten the magic? Had he frozen? Was he very sure? Or, all right, if he was very sure, then perhaps there was no bullet; perhaps something quite ordinary happened, and Childermass was run over by a cart horse, or there was a carriage accident, and there were no magicians around, or— He was aware that this was absurd, but he could not stop the thoughts happening.

Then, eventually, a hand tipped his hat forwards into his face, and he looked up, and Childermass was standing before him: a little unkempt, a little white at the edges, but otherwise in every respect the same.

They looked at each other unreadably.

"Well, are you coming or not?" Childermass said.

Silently, Segundus took his outstretched hand. Childermass pulled him up off the steps with no evident discomfort, and they walked back to the inn they were staying at, and everything was fine, it was— fine; nothing had happened; an accident avoided, a tragedy they had missed—

* * *

The would-be assassin had been a Henryist, one of those colloquially known as Crow-croppers, so-called for their habit of tearing down Johannite banners. No one was quite sure what to do with him, as he had committed a crime, but the crime seemed to have then been un-committed. Was it a crime to wound a man if the wound could be reversed? Was it a crime to kill a man if he contrived to not die? Given this confusion, it seemed best to indefinitely detain him without charge, "Which—" Childermass said, setting aside the letter from London, "is almost certainly the greater crime. 

"It is not," Segundus said, and then, when Childermass looked at him, pretended to have said nothing. He sunk low in his seat at the breakfast table. He could hear, from the far dining room, schoolchildren laughing. At the moment he did not very much wish to be headmaster of a school. He wished, he thought, to take Childermass someplace very far away. Possibly the outer reaches of the Faroe Islands, where there were no roads, and very few houses, and the principal occupants were sheep and the pale grey sea and sky.

"You are in a rare mood," Childermass said. "I suppose I should not have read you the letter."

Segundus said, "You always do exactly as you mean to do." 

He stood and left the room, hearing Childermass's sigh behind him. 

Later that night, he curled up very small in their bed. Beside him, Childermass was reading a journal. He read very fast, faster than ordinary people. His fingers sounded restless on the pages. Segundus was facing away from him. They had not spoken in perhaps an hour. 

At last Childermass set the journal on the bedstand. There was a long pause. He said, "I had to pull you out of Faerie. I had to carry you out of a manor house, scarcely knowing if you were alive or dead—"

"I _know_ ," Segundus said fiercely. He shut his eyes.

He felt the bed shift, and then the close warmth of Childermass's body, lying pressed against him. Childermass stroked his arm. "You are not angry with _me_ ," Childermass pointed out reasonably, "so I am quite unable to resolve the matter."

This was true, but it was not what Segundus had wanted to hear. Feeling fairly miserable, he curled more tightly into himself. This had been a habit of his from childhood: an attempt to occupy the smallest space possible, as though at some point he might manage to disappear. Childermass particularly disliked this habit. But he said nothing now, only curved an arm around Segundus which grew gradually heavier as he fell asleep.

In the morning, Segundus woke alone. This was not unusual; one or the other of them often woke alone, between the many duties of the school and the fact that Childermass seemed to have a great difficulty staying in one place. He was always traveling to London or, more often, across the North, sometimes on errands he did not choose to explain; it was not— this Segundus did believe— that he did not wish to stay at Starecross, but that in some sense his life was not wholly his to give. Some part of it belonged to... well, England, perhaps. England in some wild and remote sense. 

There were times when Segundus was not troubled by it, and times when it greatly troubled him. On this particular morning, he had been dreaming... it had been a very confused matter. Childermass had been shot, but then it transpired that he had not been shot, but that in fact someone had cut his heart out of his chest. Segundus had said to the doctor, "Please, use mine," had begged with the doctor to use his, but the doctor had said it was not the right size. So Segundus had stood there with it beating horribly inside of him, watching— watching—

He had woken from this dream with an uneasy feeling, reaching out his hand before he realized that Childermass was not there. He lay in bed feeling unaccountably angry, as though it were Childermass's fault that he had had the dream, and then sighed and released the anger and went about his day.  

But he did not sleep that night, nor the night after. Somehow he could not quite shake the feeling of that heart beating inside him. Instead he sat awake and worried about tensions between the school and the village of Starecross (a young student had inadvertently cursed a week's worth of a local farmer's eggs so that they contained nothing except her own schoolchild dreams— it was very precise and beautifully constructed magic, with one dream per egg), and the state of Mr Honeyfoot's troublesome ankles, and a very imprecise reference in Ormskirk, which he now thought he had misunderstood, and a great number of other disconnected items. 

By this third day he was beginning to feel very stretched around the edges. He was no longer worrying so much as he had been, but this was because everything he had worried about seemed oddly distant. He seemed to have become a little hazy, and he kept dropping ordinary objects: a book, a teaspoon, a candle, a pen. This was very curious, but he could not perceive its cause.

When Childermass arrived at Starecross around midday, he took one look at Segundus and shoved him towards the bedroom. By the time Segundus had formulated some response to this astonishing action, he found himself already sprawled on the bed.

"Sleep," Childermass said. "Or I will spell you to do it."

Segundus stared up at him. "You would not dare." 

There were a number of reasons, he thought, why Childermass would never enchant him.

Childermass hesitated, looking conflicted. "I should not have to."

"I should not have to sleep alone!" Segundus said.

He regretted the words even as they left his mouth. He had used them as a weapon, which he would not have done had he not been so tired. He knew they were not the heart of the matter. He had said them only to hurt Childermass. 

Childermass did not show any reaction. His face was closed. This was a great deal worse than if he had been angry. He turned aside for a moment, carefully removing his coat and folding it over an armchair. "Well," he said without looking back, "I am here now. And now that I am here, you will sleep."

"I—" Segundus said. But he was not quite sure what to say. He looked at Childermass miserably. Childermass was unfolding a newspaper and settling onto the bed in a casual way that suggested he did not notice Segundus was there. The newspaper rustled. Segundus shut his eyes. He thought he was so unhappy that his heart would deny him respite, but he had underestimated how weary he was, and almost immediately he fell asleep. 

When he woke, it was night. The room was dark. A pale globe of light was hovering near Childermass's right hand. He was making notes in the margins of a monograph. His handwriting had always been very beautiful, as though he had spent a long time practicing it. He paused from time to time to reach for the inkwell on the night-stand. He did not seem aware of Segundus watching him.

Segundus reached out after a moment and touched his arm. He still did not know what to say to him. He felt slow and muzzy-headed with sleep. But Childermass had not removed his hand, so— He curled closer, insinuating his hands around Childermass's waist. He felt Childermass hesitate, then resume his notation. Segundus pressed his face into the fabric of his waistcoat, inhaling the familiar scent, at once sooty and wild, that he associated with Childermass.

"Forgive me," he murmured indistinctly.

Childermass sighed and set the pen aside. His hand came to rest on Segundus's shoulder. "You must speak as you feel is correct."

"I did not. I was not."

"But you will not be frank with me."

"There is nothing to say." Segundus realized he was holding onto Childermass quite tightly. "As you said. I am not angry with you."

"No," Childermass said. It had the intonation of a question. There were several questions it might have been meant to ask. Segundus did not particularly wish to answer any of them. 

So he worked his sleepy way up Childermass's body, reveling in the warm presence of him, until Childermass was forced to set aside his book and send the globe to the night-stand, at which point Segundus crawled into his lap. He stayed there for a long time, rocking their hips gently together, sucking a wide bruise into Childermass's neck. Childermass's hands came up and began to undress him: waistcoat, neckcloth, and then shirt; running slow hands over the skin he exposed in this fashion. His whole concentration seemed absorbed by that skin, as though he were considering every inch of it very closely. Segundus felt very raw under his gaze. The intensity of it was consumingly erotic, yet he felt overwhelmed; he wanted to escape from it. Unbuttoning Childermass's breeches, he shifted, thinking to take him in his mouth.

But Childermass caught at him. "No," he said. "Just—"

He held Segundus's shoulders very firmly for a moment. Segundus, without wholly meaning to, strained against him a little— just enough to feel the hard boundaries of his grip. He took a fast breath, feeling suddenly dizzy.

Childermass dropped his hands at once.

"No," Segundus said. He reached out and guided those hands back. He found he could not look at Childermass directly. He felt rather tongue-tied. "Please," he said.  

Childermass gazed at him uncertainly. He tightened his hands a little, careful. Then more.

"Yes," Segundus said. He shut his eyes and ground his hips down. "Oh. Oh." A small breathy sound that escaped him again and again. 

Suddenly Childermass moved, tipping them over on the bed, pinning Segundus underneath him. He pushed his hands up Segundus's arms until he reached his wrists, and held them down very hard against the bedsheets. Segundus arched up under him: shoving against his grip but saying, "Yes— yes—" 

Childermass's look was one of bewildered hunger. But how, Segundus thought, could he not understand? He was _here_ , his whole body unremitting, a steady, constant, living weight. He would not let go. The press of his cock was a hard mark of desire, a reminder of the force of his want, the urgency of it. It was— it was rational, but it was not rational: so base and instinctive that Segundus felt hot under his skin, so good that he was close to climax almost at once, and had to fight against it. His hips rocked forwards in little helpless gestures. He did not want to make any sounds, because he was afraid he would say something that would be close to the truth, but he could not stop himself from making sounds, so he just said, "Please," over and over— his voice growing quite desperate— until he could not fight that pleasure anymore, and finished in a rush.

He had not even made it out of his breeches. Childermass, above him, was still mostly dressed. He released Segundus's wrists and fumbled to get his cock out, then began stroking it fast, looking at Segundus with an expression of unreadable desire. Segundus was breathing hard. He felt stunned into lassitude. Possibly all of his bones had turned into liquid, but a warm liquid, which was not unpleasant. He blinked slowly at Childermass, and licked his lips, and then Childermass gasped out something unintelligible and finished over Segundus's bare chest.

He did not immediately move to lie down on the bed, but instead gazed at Segundus with a curious, heavy-lidded look and reached out to draw a finger through the seed on Segundus's skin. Segundus watched him, very bright-eyed. He himself had not moved; his arms were still resting over his head, in the same position where Childermass had placed them. 

When Childermass's finger reached the well of his throat, he lifted it and brought it to Segundus's lips. Segundus parted them and curled his tongue around that finger, tasting sourness and sweat. He sucked deliberately for a long moment, and then bit lightly at the knuckle. Childermass's eyes widened slightly at that.

Then his gaze drifted upwards, and he frowned, and the spell was broken.

"You should not have let me—" he said, and took Segundus's arm, gently lowering it and turning it in his grasp. There were red finger-marks around the wrist-bone.

Segundus pulled away from him sharply. "Why should I not? It is my pleasure. You did not have to indulge me, if you found the idea so— repellant—" He realized that he was trembling.

"That was not what I said. Nor what I meant." There was a pause. Childermass took his shirt off carefully and held it in his hands for a moment. After a long hesitation, he extended it to clean Segundus's chest. 

When he had finished, he set it aside. He looked at Segundus and said, "Can I... ?" He had quite a strange expression. Segundus thought perhaps he looked slightly frightened.

"Can you what?"

Childermass did not answer for a moment. Then he reached out and cradled Segundus's face in his hand. 

"Oh," Segundus said in a small voice. "Yes."

All at once he found himself almost unable to breathe under the smothering weight of Childermass. Childermass seemed to be pressing every inch of his body against him, dragging him close with arms around his chest, burying his face at the curve of his throat. This was not wholly unusual behaviour for Childermass. Segundus had not realized that—

He did not know what he had not realized. He sighed heavily. The trembling passed. He placed his hand over Childermass's hand, lacing their fingers together. He could feel Childermass's breath against his neck, and this was so comforting to him, such a profound reassurance, that in a very short time he was surprised to feel himself drifting off to sleep again.

* * *

That night, Segundus had one of the queerest dreams that he could remember. He was standing in some remote place of heather moorland. It was autumn, he thought— the heather was still blooming; there were shadows of lapwings in the air; the sky had that high, clear, remote, austere look. It was very beautiful. There seemed to be such size to the land, as though it went on forever in every direction, and all of it was very pure and rich; and he felt like a child in the face of such a country. It was England, but it was not exactly England yet 

A little ways off from him, Childermass was sitting cross-legged amidst the heather with a large stone outcropping at his back. He was barefoot, and his hair hung loose about his shoulders. He was gazing out at the landscape with a soft, abstracted expression. It was perhaps the most unguarded expression that Segundus had seen on him. It made him look oddly young.

"What are you doing?" Segundus called out to him.

Childermass turned and squinted at him, puzzled, through the haze of sunlight. "I am learning to read," he said. 

Confused, Segundus looked around. But he could see no books— only the burnt-looking banks of heather on the hillsides, the empty sky, the pale track of a road in the distance.He said, "I do not understand."

"I am teaching myself. I have done it before." Childermass still looked puzzled. "Why are you so far away?"

Segundus said uncertainly, "I do not think that I am meant to be here." He had a rather queasy feeling about it, as though at any moment someone might take him aside with a kind but pitying look and explain that he would have to leave. 

Childermass frowned at him. "But I want you here," he said.

So Segundus picked his way through the berths of heather to the place where Childermass sat, startling several small birds from the underbrush in the process. When he reached Childermass, it seemed very natural to curl up with his head in Childermass's lap and watch drowsily as a few clouds moved over the horizon. Childermass absently stroked his hair. It was very peaceful. That was what made the dream so queer. Segundus did not have many peaceful dreams; or if he did, he did not remember them. But he would have liked to stay there, he thought. He would have liked to stay there forever.

Instead he woke. Light was drifting through the bedroom window. He had shifted in his sleep, settling himself against Childermass's body so that Childermass's left shoulder was pressed under his cheek. He could feel the scar there. Sometimes it seemed to carry a faint trace of magic. But at that moment it seemed very ordinary— a plain, brutal, very threatening reminder: this body is such a fragile thing. _I know_ , Segundus thought. _I do not need to be reminded._

Childermass shifted, slightly fretful in sleep, as though aware of what Segundus was thinking. Segundus curled an arm around his waist and held him tightly.

* * *

Childermass often professed himself to be a very poor teacher, but in the time that he had spent at Starecross, Segundus had found that this was not the case. Whenever Childermass stayed more than a day or two, he was drawn inexorably into the life of the school, as indeed was any magician— and Segundus counted a great many magicians amongst his acquaintances— who happened to make a visit. It was all but impossible to avoid the rather hectic goings-on. Dr Foxcastle, huffing his way from York to quarrel with Mr Segundus on some theoretical matter that Mr Segundus had raised in a letter to the _Friends of English Magic_ or the _Ivy Book_ , would find himself bombarded with questions from tiny, scholarly Ruth Weber— "Why have you said in your monograph upon the King's Other Lands that fairies are an idle race and not worth ruling? Why would our king, who is John Uskglass, rule them if they were not worth ruling? Have you ever met a fairy? How then can you say they are idle?"— or find his coat buttons turned by Tom Annesley into little snails. (Segundus had felt himself obliged to apologize profusely on this occasion, which was difficult, as he felt the snails on the whole to be a great improvement on Dr Foxcastle's usual attire.)  William Hadley-Bright, arriving from London to take tea, was pestered for charms to make horse chestnuts ripen, while Miss Redruth was provoked— to the great delight of the students, who were all incipient agitators— to discourse on the sinister effects of Norrellite magic for a good three-quarters of an hour. 

Magicians who had small patience with children did not tend to return to Starecross. Childermass, to the astonishment of almost everyone except Segundus, proved to have great patience with children. Indeed, Childermass had greater patience with children than he did with any other sort of human being. Children, in turn, universally adored him. He seemed bemused by this effect, but not displeased.

"They are forthright creatures," he told Segundus. "They have not yet learned to deceive themselves. Soon enough they will acquire all the evils of their parents. But for now we may be straightforward with one another."

 _What sort of child were you?_ Segundus would sometimes think, watching him right one of the youngest girls when she had stumbled and quieten her tears by informing her very matter-of-factly that she was not so greatly injured, and certainly he would know if she were, for he had been shot once and was therefore an acknowledged expert on the matter. Or answer Ruth's questions with extensive, thoughtful disquisitions on England's magical geography; or tolerate the twin Somerville boys showing him a toad they had found in the garden, a toad of which they were enamoured and which they wished him to name. ("Dr Foxcastle," Childermass pronounced, which elated the boys, but which caused Segundus to give him a very disapproving look.)

There were times when being at the school seemed to make Childermass slightly unhappy. But Segundus did not know what to make of these times, because Childermass was so close-mouthed about himself, and Segundus could not even imagine approaching the subject. It seemed very deep and astoundingly dangerous. In this respect Segundus thought himself something of a coward.

So he did not say anything in the week after Childermass returned, though it was clear to him that Childermass was troubled. He was not distracted, not exactly; if anything he seemed more conscious of Segundus, more conscious of himself around him. There was an intensity to his focus that had not been there before, as though Segundus was a puzzle that he had to solve. In bed he was almost silent, which was not really characteristic. This was not to say that they could not manage without speaking; they knew each very well by now. Although the next night was a little strained— Childermass asked a little askance, "Do you want me to...?" and Segundus replied a little tersely, "No"— after this, things progressed easily enough. In fact, if anything they seemed hungrier for each other's bodies. 

It was not in Childermass's nature to feel any compunctions about any act that he enjoyed in bed— or so Segundus had observed— into which category fell the performance of a number of outstandingly filthy acts upon Segundus, and indeed almost any act likely to render Segundus dazed and speechless. Somehow Childermass seemed to have an unfailing metre that informed him which acts these would be, and an unfailing insight into the source of Segundus's response. In the course of employing his mouth on Segundus's cock, he would slide that mouth very, very deep, then flicker a slow mute glance up through his dark eyelashes. He would fuck Segundus from a position lying flat on the bed, and very deliberately still his hips, giving Segundus only the head of his cock over and over, penetrating only that shallow and exquisitely pleasurable inch, and watch raptly as Segundus worked himself almost to climax before thrusting very hard and deeply again.

He would, as he was doing now, get Segundus facedown on the bed (or, really, the floor or the settee or any item of furniture in the bedroom; Childermass was not overly particular about this) and tongue in a fervent and starving manner at the most intimate places of him, making sure to curl his tongue in such a way and in such places that Segundus was acutely aware of it as a tongue: not just something hot and wet dragging pleasure across the skin of his body, but as— he could not say why it was so exciting, knowing that it was Childermass's tongue in him, that Childermass was doing this for his pleasure. But it _was_ exciting. He climaxed from it, so hard that he felt weak and remote for a moment. He had to bury his face in the bedsheets. 

When he had regained the best part of his breath, he rested his head against his arm and said to Childermass, "You can, if you want to...?"

But Childermass shook his head, and crawled up to press himself against Segundus's body, thrusting slowly against him, face pressed into his neck, until his breath came panting and he made a series of short, cut-off sounds and Segundus felt him finish. 

Afterwards, Segundus spent a long time stroking his back. He felt obscurely that he had done something wrong, although he wasn't sure what it had been— and though both of them seemed obviously contented.

Childermass was already drowsing against him. Segundus combed his hair away from his face. He had never felt more profoundly that he did not know what Childermass was thinking, nor felt a more urgent need to understand it.

In the morning, Childermass left for London again. Segundus stood at the gate and watched him go.

* * *

It was late October, with All Hallow's Eve soon approaching, as well as all the holidays that followed through to Bonfire Night. In the North this included the Feast Day of John Uskglass. This was celebrated on November 2nd, and when Segundus entered Starecross's kitchen the Wednesday before, he found Miss Redruth engaged in carving turnips for it. She looked abashed to be so discovered 

"Ruth Weber asked me to do it," she said. "I told her that she was not old enough yet to hold a knife, but she was most insistent that if we did not set lanterns by the gateposts, the Raven King would not know to bless our house when he rides by."

"What a curious superstition," Segundus said, examining one such lantern. It had the crude figure of a raven cut into it.

"Oh, it is very common about these parts. I daresay one of the village children told her. Or Jack Surtiss; he is from Newcastle, and they do such a thing there."

"Hmm," Segundus said. There was something about the lantern that discomfited him slightly. The rough-cut raven, the hard rough shell of the turnip seemed to hint at something very old and wild. Did he want to welcome this old, wild thing? Did he want a blessing from it upon his house? He was not sure.

Miss Redruth paused her cutting. "I imagine Mr Childermass will be back for the holiday." She said it rather tentatively, as though not entirely sure that such a topic would be welcome.

They had never discussed this matter, of course; the fact that Childermass lived more at Starecross than any other place was accepted quietly and unremarked-on. Segundus felt a bit unsure about commenting upon it now. He glanced up a little shyly.

"I— had not really given any thought to it," he ventured.

"Oh, I am sure he will want to be in the North." 

Segundus turned the lantern idly round in his fingers. The raven reappeared again and again. He said, "The North is rather larger than Starecross Hall."

Miss Redruth flashed him a quick, soft, complicated look. "I suspect Mr Childermass sometimes finds it too large for his liking."

"He has never said so," Segundus said, and then regretted this remark. He cleared his throat and returned the lantern to the countertop. "Excuse me."

Miss Redruth looked as though she would very much have liked to make some further comment, and it was rare for her to withhold her opinion. In the end, however, she said nothing and allowed him to go.

That night Segundus had another nightmare. In it, Childermass had been shot, but he behaved as though nothing had happened. When Segundus asked him about the bloodstain flowering slowly across his shirt-front, he said, "The wound is not so very great." This seemed reasonable to Segundus, so he carried on with what he was doing, which was carving turnips, as Childermass rode away. But later, a man came from London to tell him that Childermass was dead. "Why did you not do the magic?" the man asked. "You could have saved him. Why did you not come to London? He was asking for you." "I did not know!" Segundus protested. But the man looked at him severely and said, "Surely that cannot be true. You have always known, and we sent word to Yorkshire. But I suppose it is too late."

Segundus awoke from this dream with such an intense feeling of dread that for a moment he thought he was going to be sick. His heart was pounding so loudly that he could hear it, like the rush of hurricane waves over sand. He could not shake the sense that something terrible had happened. So immediate and unbearable was it that after a few seconds in which he huddled shaking in his bed, he fumbled his way downstairs in a dressing gown and unlocked the door to his office. There was a silver basin on his desk, and a pitcherful of water for magic. Segundus filled the basin with water and summoned a vision in it.

It was a dark vision, because, of course, it was not yet dawn— as Segundus had neglected to realize. It showed a narrow inn bed in which Childermass was sleeping. At least, he looked like he was sleeping. He did not look dead. And after a moment he stirred in his sleep, his brow creasing, as though he were aware of Segundus watching him. His hand twitched against the bed-sheet.

Segundus let his hand hover over the surface of the water. He wanted to reach out through it— thread his hand into that hand, touch Childermass's face, crawl into the warm and sleep-scented bed. It seemed suddenly unbearable for him to be in his cold office. He hugged his knees to his chest and watched the image in the silver basin until he fell asleep just like that, curled in the wooden chair. When he woke, the spell had dispersed. The vision was gone. The water in the basin was just water again. A curious scent of magic lingered in the air, and it seemed to follow him all the next day— a sharp smell of smoke at odd moments, as though someone were burning hawthorn wood.

On All Hallow's Eve, Childermass returned. The first Segundus knew of it was setting a bit of chalk down while teaching, and turning to face his classroom— only to find Childermass leaning against the doorway, watching him with an unreadable gaze. There was dust on his clothes; he must have come straight from the stables. 

Segundus stared stupidly at him for a moment. All of the thoughts seemed to have gone out of his head, and he could think only of how much he wished to cross the room and press himself against Childermass's body: breathing him in, knowing he was safe, safe, safe— 

Later he would not entirely remember concluding the class. He dismissed his students and watch them exit— some few of them stopping to tug at Childermass's sleeves and inform him seriously of what they had been studying, or show him a picture of a castle or a raven they had drawn.

When they had all gone, the weight of Childermass's gaze returned to Segundus. He sidled slowly into the classroom. Segundus watched him without moving. There was a tension in the air: a nervous, violent kind of feeling. The closer Childermass got to where he was standing, the more Segundus felt his breath catch. 

At last Segundus felt obliged to break the silence. "Well," he said, dry-mouthed. "You are back."

"Well," Childermass said. "Evidently I am."

"It was Miss Redruth's opinion that you would return to Yorkshire for the holiday."

"I did not return for the holiday," Childermass said. 

He had reached the front of the room. He was inches from Segundus, mysteriously uncrossable inches. They stood there and regarded each other like that. 

Childermass reached out his hand. It seemed he was going to touch Segundus's face. But he stopped just short of that, his hand close enough that Segundus was shiveringly aware of its nearness, but separated by an inch of air. 

Segundus drew in a breath. He closed the distance slowly, leaning his face into the warm skin of Childermass's palm. He could not quite stop himself from pushing himself a little against it, cat-like, as though asking for some further touch. Well: _as though_ — he thought distantly that this was exactly what he was doing. He did not know how else to ask for it.

Childermass said softly, "I have not yet taken my valise to the bedroom."

But they did not stop to acquire the valise. Instead, they stumbled upstairs in a sort of halting daze, not even touching, but stopping sometimes to stare at one another. Segundus felt unmoored by a hunger that grew under his skin with a sensation of heat. 

When at last the bedroom door shut behind them, there was a long fraught pause. Childermass removed his coat and his waistcoat without looking at Segundus. Segundus stood watching him, unable to speak or move or do much of anything.

Very carefully, Childermass undressed him also: removing his coat and waistcoat with neat precise movements and draping them over a chair. He did not stop there, however; he unbuttoned Segundus's breeches and slid them down off his hips, kneeling so he could loose the lower buttons as well. When he had removed them, he pressed his face to Segundus's inner thigh, a moment of content so electric yet spare that it staggered a gasp out of Segundus. 

Childermass appeared not to notice his reaction. He stood and stripped off his own shirt; kicked off his breeches in a careless motion; then, without warning, he took hold of Segundus's shoulders and pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips with his knees and holding him down.  

Segundus's breath had been knocked out of him and he could not quite get it back. He touched his hands to Childermass's arms, almost daring him to do as he did, which was: transfer his hold to Segundus's wrists, forcing them flat against the bed. Segundus made a noise that he did not recognize, his hips jerking upwards, and Childermass tightened his grip. 

"Stay," Childermass said. "Unless you wish me to tie you to the bedposts."

This was not what Segundus wanted; he wanted Childermass's hands. So he stayed very still as Childermass released him and watched Childermass reach for the bed-stand. He thought— he was not thinking very much, to tell the truth; he was making faint begging sounds each time he breathed, and he could not seem to stop making them. Nevertheless he was shocked when Childermass reached behind himself and began to stretch himself as Segundus was typically stretched. Childermass was not shy about enjoying the process; he dropped his head, breathing hard, and rode against his own hand, which made Segundus's mouth drop open a little. 

"Please," Segundus said breathlessly. "Please, please, I— I have to—" He was acutely aware of his straining cock, which dripped onto his stomach. But he did not move a hand to take ahold of it.

Childermass ignored him for another minute, working himself back and forth on his fingers, before at last, at last reaching out a slick hand and stroking Segundus's cock with it. The sensation was almost intolerable; it was so _much_. Segundus bit his lip and closed his eyes. So he did not see Childermass withdraw his fingers, or carefully position himself; he only felt the head of his cock press into a willing body, and Childermass dragging his wrists down, pushing his weight against them, so that Segundus was at once penetrating and imprisoned. His body scarcely knew how to respond to this. 

What was more, Childermass did not lower himself past the briefest point of penetration. He did not take Segundus's cock into his own body, something which— as soon as the idea of it formed itself in his staggered mind— Segundus badly needed. He merely waited, rocking back and forth a little.

Segundus forced his eyes open. "Please," he said. He flinched his hands in Childermass's grasp, causing himself to gasp and jerk his hips up, which resulted in his cock sinking fractionally deeper. He cried out in a tone that was nearly despairing.

Childermass said, "I am not going to do all of the work for you." He was gazing at Segundus very intently, and his own breathing was hardly unaffected; he appeared to be holding himself in check by the barest discipline.

"I can't," Segundus managed in something like a moan. But it occurred to him that he could, that nothing prevented him from thrusting up. It was only that this seemed somehow forbidden. He did not wish to make Childermass do anything that was not desirable to him. And how was he to know if... ? But his body knew what it wanted, and already his hips were flinching up in short hard jerks, producing pleasure. He thought that he would die if he could not get more of it. Every part of him felt pulled taut. He thrashed his head to one side, feeling dazed and feverish. 

"You can," Childermass said. 

So Segundus thrust up in a kind of desperate surrender, feeling Childermass's body open around him, the hot flesh gripping at him tighter than any hand, forcing him to accept the intensity of the way it pressed and tugged and stroked at him. He sobbed out something— a word, a noise— as Childermass gasped, and then drew back a little to push forward again. This time Childermass met him halfway in a very deep hard thrust. Childermass made a noise of pleasure, and his hands clenched painfully at Segundus's wrists. This caused Segundus's hips to work frantically for a moment, as though Segundus had quite lost control of himself, and all he could think of was the need to obtain _more_ , a deeper and a harder sensation.

There was no stopping this cycle once it began. More pleasure caused him to thrust up more wildly, which caused Childermass to bear down on him, inflicting upon him new intensities of excitement. Their bodies worked in tandem. Segundus felt caught and suspended. Soon he was fucking Childermass quite hard, or Childermass was fucking him, or— he could not say; he did not understand it. At some point Childermass released his hands, and he did not think about it before bringing them up to his hips, forcing him down harder. Childermass worked his own cock with a hand that was very fast and slick, and the sight of him with his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open, pleasuring himself as Segundus's cock pushed into him— 

Segundus cried out and held onto his hips very hard, shoving upwards and climaxing with so much force that bright sparks flooded his vision. He cold not hold onto much of anything after that: not his own thoughts nor Childermass's hips. He dropped his hands back to his sides, where Childermass had held them; he was aware of Childermass spending himself wetly; of a vague discomfort as Childermass shifted; then an absence that he protested, blinking and attempting to sit up. 

But Childermass returned to him, and some insistent cleaning took place— though Segundus wrinkled his nose and batted a hand at the cold damp cloth— and then at last he was settling into Segundus's arms.

"You were watching me," he said quietly, his head resting at the curve of Segundus's neck.

Segundus could not think what he meant. But then, he was very drowsy. "Mm?" he said.

"I felt the magic. And I saw you. You were in your office."

"Oh." Segundus shut his eyes. He frowned a little, hazily. "I dream you are dead. Then I cannot... I do not wish to discuss this." He turned away a little, pulling his knees up to his chest in a reflexive motion. The mention of the topic had caused him to feel a touch of dread.

Childermass held him very tightly and said nothing. Segundus dozed through the late afternoon in his arms, dreaming uneasily and sometimes half-waking only to be lulled once more by the sound of his breath.

* * *

The next morning, as he was dressing, Segundus told Childermass, "The children now insist on celebrating John Uskglass's feast day, in preference even to Bonfire Night. Ruth has become quite strident about it. She will be pleased at your return; I had suggested to her that you might know something of the customs. 

"She will be disappointed," Childermass said matter-of-factly. He was still in bed, not having deigned to rise; he had been watching Segundus dress in a lazy, half-hungry manner. He had always enjoyed the sight of Segundus in fine clothes.

Segundus glanced at him over his shoulder, fastening a button. "I thought you were raised in Yorkshire; were you not?"

Childermass laughed. It was a short and very scornful laugh. Segundus had not heard this particular laugh from Childermass in a long time; he had not looked to hear it again. "Raised," Childermass said. "Children of my... _kind_ are not raised. I was born in Yorkshire and came of age here. I am a Yorkshireman, but I was not _raised._ You must ask the farmers, if it is quaint customs you want."

Segundus was silent for a moment simply because he did not know how to respond. His hand had stilled on his shirt-cuff. He perceived that without meaning to he had slipped and fallen into one of those deep and dangerous subjects he strove to avoid, and he felt helpless to find his way out of it without making his predicament worse. Furthermore, the sound of that laugh had been a slap across his face. It had hurt, and he thought that it had been meant to.

"... I will tell her to ask Mrs Weatherhill," he said quietly at last. Mrs Weatherhill was the housekeeper, and came from Starecross village.

Childermass said nothing to this. 

Segundus finished dressing. He started to leave the room, but reached the foot of the bed and stopped. All at once something welled up in him and spilled over. Without looking at Childermass he said, "Forgive me. I did not mean to... But you know that, of course. I am so sorry that I seem unable to ever please you, that everything I do in some way gives offense, that I cannot manage to—" He had to stop, because his lip was trembling, though he did not quite know why, and he would not allow himself to break down into tears. 

He did leave then. He heard Childermass draw a breath behind him, but he knew that if he stayed, he would not be able to keep his composure. 

All the rest of the day he felt queasy. He picked at his breakfast and his lunch. Mr Honeyfoot remarked on his poor appetite, and little Anne Belham, one of the youngest students, insisted on giving him a ragged fistful of wildflowers because, she said, he looked so sad. This made Segundus feel extremely guilty, and he resolved to better conceal his unhappiness. His students ought not to bear the burden of it.

Childermass did not appear before the evening. By this point, Segundus had been enlisted to light the turnip lanterns and, accompanied by several of the children, carry them out to the gate. 

It was a chilly night, and the dark had come early. The air had a heavy indigo look, like the world had been water-coloured in blue India ink. The cold made the wind smell very clearly of all the distinct scents it carried from the moor— evergreen shrubs, and prickly flowers, and stones that had laid a long time unturned, and ever-so-often a hint of smoke. In the grasp of this wind, the candle flames flickered. Bright ravens spread their wings on the ground. It was not hard to look down the pale line of the road and imagine that the Raven King might, somewhere in the distance, be travelling along it. A dark figure who did not belong in houses, who belonged on the moors with his wild company.

"But how will we _know_ the Raven King has been here?" asked Ruth Weber, anxious. "Suppose he does not see our lanterns? It is the _only_ day in all the year that he visits England!" The thought seemed to cause her an excited agony. 

"I should think that he is very thorough about such matters," Segundus gently reassured her. "After all, he is not an ordinary man, or even an ordinary magician."

This seemed to placate her somewhat, though he rather feared that she would be up the rest of the night, peering out of her window in the hopes of glimpsing the king. Perhaps he ought not to have encouraged the idea. But then again, children thrived on such beliefs. And not only children. He thought of himself, twelve years back, willing magic to happen, clinging steadfastly to some small belief that there was a moreness to the world— something that was not lost yet, only hiding. There were those who had called him a child for it.

For some reason he thought of Childermass in his dream— the dream that had not been a nightmare, in which Childermass had claimed to be learning to read. Childermass had seemed so young, as though years had been lifted from his shoulders. The memory made Segundus ache. In the dream, it had been so easy to want and be wanted. 

Long after he had sent the children to bed, he stood thinking about this by the gate. He was aware of what he was avoiding. And then he could not avoid it any longer, for he heard the door to the house close quietly, and then footsteps crunching along the leaf-strewn path. There was a faint familiar scent of soot and tobacco, and when he looked over his shoulder, Childermass was there.

He was hanging back a little ways from Segundus, looking ill-at-ease— somewhat in the manner of a fox that Segundus had once watched creep into the Starecross garden, wary and uncertain of whether it ought to flee. 

"I did not wish—" Childermass said. "That is— I will not put you out of your bedroom, if you do not wish—" He stopped.

Segundus stared at him. He felt as though Childermass had walked up to him and, without any ceremony, punched him in the gut. He said, "I had intended it to be—" His voice came out sounding less steady than he had intended, but he persevered. "I had intended it to be your bedroom as well. I had thought that— forgive me, how stupid I was to think you might—"

"No," Childermass said, sounding oddly distressed. He stepped forwards and then halted, as though reining himself in. He seemed not quite to know what to do with his hands. They hung in mid-air for a moment. Segundus could see the ink-stains on them, the ink that always seemed to get under his fingernails. Then Childermass lowered them slowly to his sides.

"I am sorry," Segundus said quietly. "I did not mean to impose. You have made it very clear that I may not assume to know your— mind—" Heart, he had been going to say.

A rare flash of raw emotion showed in Childermass's face. It was hard to read and quickly concealed. He did not ever like to reveal emotion, or seemed at times not quite sure how to do such a thing. "You may have what you want from me," he said. "If you wish me to go, then I will go. Only— you do not like it when I go, and I do not want— But when I am here you pull away from me as though you wish I would go, so I do not see..."

"Please do not go," Segundus said abruptly, shakily. "Please do not—" He covered his mouth with one hand. He was astonished to find that it was quite impossible for him to speak another word. He felt as though his chest were being collapsed with a stone. There had once been a punishment of the sort, or a kind of Mediaeval torture. They had called it pressing. You put more and more stones onto a man's chest, until he could not withstand it. Segundus suspected he was close to not being able to withstand it. 

Childermass took a tentative step forward. He still had something of that lured-animal look. (The fox had stayed very close to the ground, muscles tensed and ears alert, prepared at any moment to turn teeth-and-claws.) He had gone very impassive, which was generally a sign that he was feeling something powerful but was not prepared to share it. "Will you let me... ?" he said uncertainly. He lifted his hand and let it hover above Segundus's shoulder.

It was a gesture that frustrated Segundus. He wanted to be comforted; he did not want to have to beg for it; he did not want to have to _allow_ ; it seemed extraordinary to him that Childermass could not see his evident distress, or— worse— seemed so unmoved by it.

Then he regarded Childermass, who was not looking at him directly, and who had adopted a posture of profound indifference. Segundus had the sense that if he told Childermass, _No, how dare you touch me,_ Childermass would display no reaction to this; he would shrug as though this were very much as he'd expected, and any onlooker would have the distinct sense that it did not matter much to Childermass one way or the other whether Segundus permitted his affection.

Segundus did not believe that this was the case. He thought it mattered very much to Childermass. He thought that if this was true, he had almost certainly made several large mistakes, but that if it was not true, he had made so many more that it did not really bear contemplating at this juncture.

He stepped forwards and pressed himself against Childermass's body. It was not exactly an embrace. He was not sure what it was. He buried his face in the warm soft space where Childermass's collar met his throat. It smelled unbearably familiar. It smelled like safety.

Childermass's arms came up around him, very hesitant at first, then less hesitant when Segundus did not protest. After a moment, he touched one careful hand to the nape of Segundus's neck. Segundus shivered a little under that touch and pushed against it, wordlessly begging for more. Childermass obliged him. Yet somehow it was not enough, and after a moment Segundus pulled back and took Childermass's hand. He thought he ought to ask something but he did not think he could, and in any case he did not know what to ask. 

Instead he led Childermass into the house, and into the bedroom. He felt as though he were moving in a dream. He was sure that if he stopped once he would not be able to continue. He kept waiting for Childermass to stop him, to say something crushing, perhaps to look at him with that cold, scornful look. But Childermass did not. When Segundus had closed the door, he turned to see Childermass standing precisely where he had left him, as though waiting for Segundus to lead him again. 

Segundus went to him and slid hands into his hair and kissed him. It had been a long time since he had kissed Childermass. He did not know quite how this had happened, though he supposed that in another sense he did: the act had always felt like a kind of surrender, a surrender that, of late, had deeply terrified him. He remembered the first time that Childermass had kissed him: the most astonishingly vulnerable thing he had seen Childermass do. There was something about Childermass's mouth, he thought— the long, ragged, slightly pained crook of it, like the chink in a suit of armour where two plates met. The suggestion that the armour was not impenetrable, and that underneath it was bare skin.

Childermass let himself be kissed for a very long time. After a while, he brought his hands up to Segundus's face. Segundus caught them and held them, turning them over and over, revelling in the privilege of holding them. He had always found Childermass's hands enviably elegant. He raised one palm to his mouth and brushed his mouth against it. Then the other. Then, releasing them, he unbuttoned Childermass's waistcoat. He took time to smooth his hands over it— the black cloth slightly finer than it had once been, though he wondered if Childermass would admit to it. He had an amusing commitment to self-abnegation, for all that he was unabashed about his wish to buy Segundus expensive things. 

(Then again, perhaps the commitment was not so amusing: last Christmas, when they had not known each other so well yet, they had arrived upon the topic of gifts and plunged the household into a week of ferocious bad temper, only grudgingly resolved by the mutually dissatisfying determination that neither should give the other a gift. Segundus thought of this, pushing Childermass's waistcoat from his shoulders, and wondered if perhaps it was relevant. Childermass had gone very silent then as well— though he had also slammed rather a lot of doors.)

He removed the rest of Childermass's clothing as slowly. This was easy, because Childermass let him, displaying an uncharacteristic passivity that seemed to arise from some element of his wariness. Segundus felt that he had to be very careful. He very much had a sense that he had been given something very fragile to hold, something easy for him to injure. He wondered if this was how Childermass felt a great deal of the time. It seemed a very complicated way to live.

When they were both quite naked, he touched Childermass's hand. "Will you let me take you to bed?" he said. He felt oddly shy about asking the question, even a little ridiculous. He did not even know why it was he asked. But Childermass only tilted his head curiously and nodded. He looked, if anything, slightly wonderstruck.   
  
So Segundus took him to bed. He pressed him back against the bedsheets and kissed him. The kiss started out gentle, but did not remain so; Segundus had long ago found that he possessed little restraint when it came to Childermass. He had forgotten how enjoyable their kissing could be. Childermass tended to put all of his considerable intensity into a kiss, so that when Segundus drew back he found Childermass vague and slow-eyed. Like this, it was possible to tease him: Segundus drew back further, and Childermass trailed after him, trying to reclaim the kiss, making a noise of frustration when Segundus withheld it. Something about this effect was quite delicious. It struck a low, dark tuning-fork pitch. Segundus lowered his head as though he meant to kiss him once more, came tantalizingly close to his lips, then— just as Childermass's eyes slid closed— withdrew. As before, Childermass tried to follow, but Segundus pushed his shoulders flat on the bed.   
  
"No," he said. "Stay." Then, a deliberate echo: "Unless you wish me to tie you to the bedposts."  
  
Something in Childermass's expression suggested that this idea appealed to him far more than it had done to Segundus. The entirety of his concentration was now on Segundus, the weight of his black-treacle gaze. They had both been partially aroused before; now they were very aroused indeed, and that heavy, dark look aroused Segundus further.   
  
He sat back and traced his hands down Childermass's chest. He said, feeling not entirely like himself and very hot under the skin, "I suppose if I did tie you to the bedposts, I would have to do whatever I liked to you. I am led to believe it is somewhat attendant on the act."  
  
Childermass's lips parted. He stared at Segundus as though hypnotized.  
  
"You would not be able to stop me," Segundus said. "You would simply have to lie back and—"  
  
Childermass's approval of this was very evident. The muscles of his stomach jerked under Segundus's hands.   
  
Segundus lowered his eyes. He could feel his cheeks were flushed. "Of course," he said, "if you were to stay just where you are, and move only when I told you to, then—"  
  
When he looked up, their eyes met. Slowly, Childermass lifted his hands and held them out to Segundus. They were palm-up, like a surrendering soldier's might be. Segundus looked at them for a long time, breathing unsteadily, before folding them in his own hands and guiding them up over Childermass's head. This ended with him and Childermass almost face to face. The inch or so of air that separated them was electrically heavy. Summer thunderstorm air. Segundus curled his hands around Childermass's wrists; pushed them down very hard.  
  
"Here," he whispered, "Just here."  
  
Childermass gazed hungrily at him. For a moment his eyes flickered to Segundus's mouth, and he leaned forwards just a little, straining almost imperceptibly to reach it—  
  
"No," Segundus said sharply.  
  
A brief wry flash was quickly subsumed by heat as Childermass subsided, obedient.   
  
Segundus released his wrists and shifted to press a kiss to his chest. "Good," he murmured against the skin. In fact he kissed a path down Childermass's chest, a path that became more of a solid, wet, sucking line as he became absorbed in it, and that worked its way across Childermass's tense abdomen muscles, taking him down to the bone of the hip— where he spent a very long time leaving a bruise with his mouth.  
  
"I want there to be a mark," he said low and fiercely, when he paused. "So that there may be no mistake about it; so that no matter where you go, it is always clear that you are mine." His voice had gotten slightly unsteady at the end. He did not look up to see Childermass's reaction. He reapplied his lips and teeth. He had to employ both his hands to keep Childermass's hips still, after that.  
  
Letting his tongue dip lower, he allowed it to wander into an area of great effect: first the inner thigh— he stopped to leave another bruise, which caused Childermass's leg to violently twitch— and then the soft skin of the scrotum, the skin below. He began by kneeling between Childermass's spread legs, but as his tongue worked deeper and deeper to harsher and harsher gasps, he lifted Childermass's leg and urged him to turn over. It took a moment— the more aroused Childermass became, the less coordinated he tended to be, which was endearing, but not very convenient— but once accomplished gave Segundus access to entire new realms.   
  
He had never quite dared to perform or even suggest the act which he now attempted. Such a suggestion seemed to tread excruciatingly close to a number of landscapes he thought of as dangerous. Now he had not asked. He had simply performed, and the reaction did not seem an objectionable one. Indeed, as he shifted from flattening his tongue against Childermass's entrance to probing it with keen, ferocious little licks, Childermass's whole body seemed to shudder and push back towards him, as though begging for his attention. When he paused, he saw that Childermass was rutting minimally against the bedsheets with tiny desperate shoves of his hips.  
  
Segundus pulled back. "If you cannot be still," he said rather breathlessly, "I will have to stop. If you cannot do as I tell you to—"  
  
Childermass visibly tensed with effort. He turned his head restlessly and almost feverishly into the bedsheets, mumbling something into them that Segundus could not hear or understand.   
  
Segundus stroked an approving hand down his hip, then bent to resume his previous work. He had not thought he would enjoy it as much as he did. But he had not, he thought, ever thought to have so much power concentrated in something so small as a tonge-tip. He could wrack Childermass's body with shivers through its judicious application. He could jerk noises out of him. Several times he thought that Childermass was very close to climax, just from this tiny sustained act. But he did not yet wish for this to happen, and took steps to prevent it: pulling off and waiting patiently till Childermass had stopped making agonized sounds into the sheets.  
  
He could have lost himself in this practice entirely, bringing Childermass to the point of pleasure again and again, observing how the quiver of his muscles changed, and mapping his various strange intimate taste, had it not been for the demands of his own body. But each time Childermass collapsed anew into some long, shaky, ragged breath, Segundus felt a surge of heat push through him. He liked that he could make Childermass breathe like that. He wanted to make his breath even more ragged, wanted to shove him over that unrecoverable edge where he would no longer have any control left.  
  
So he drew back and crawled up Childermass's body, staying very close to the warmth of him. He could feel the constant quiver of Childermass's muscles. He thought he could— if he bent Childermass's leg just so, shifted slightly to the side, and lifted— if he lined himself up and pressed very deeply in—   
  
And then they were as close as they had ever been together, Segundus sinking into the heat of him, pressed solidly to his back and mouthing at his shoulder, eyes screwed shut and breath coming fast with the feel of it. He thought he would be content to never move again, to simply stay in the intensity of that closeness, buried so deep, with Childermass's body clenching at him, tasting sweat under his tongue and making a soft sharp noise— But then he thought he would die if he could not move, and he was dragging out, out, out— a long slide, and shoving back in again, and a sharper cry that he could not quite muffle. Childermass's hand groped for him, and found his hand, and gripped it brutally hard— pulling Segundus's arm even more tightly around him, as though he might force them closer together, as though they were not already skin to skin.   
  
It seemed for a time that they were one entity, composed of confusingly many arms and legs, at the centre of which was something raw and hot and almost unendurably pure in its pleasure, something into which Segundus thrust again and again, though after a while he was only vaguely aware that he was thrusting, for at the same it was also he who gripped, and his hand into which Childermass thrust, but also Childermass's hand, since their hands had become undisentanglable from one another.   
  
His breath sobbed against Childermass's back, and for some reason he kept saying, "Please— please—" in between wet, fervent, open-mouthed kisses, although he did not know in the least what he was pleading for— aside from his own physical release, which he both desired and did not desire at the same time. He did not, he thought, want to cease from this state of being and go back to being a separate person again.  
  
But that release was inevitable, and soon he was hitching his hips up, riding out his last hard short strokes, and spending himself inside Childermass's body— a thought that itself was so exciting to him that it sharpened his pleasure almost to an ache. He said rather stupidly, "Oh! Oh," as though he had just had a startling revelation of some kind, and then it was over, and he was very slowly suffused by the vague lassitude of the post-coital state.   
  
He took account of his various limbs, easing himself out of Childermass so that he was once more a wholly separate being, lowering Childermass's leg so it could tangle with his own. Childermass made a short, quiet sound at these motions and thrust forward slightly. Segundus nuzzled into his back and returned his hand to his cock and stroked him slowly, enjoying the feel of him, drawing out every inch of each pass over the slick skin, until Childermass was flinching and shaking against him. At the last instant, Segundus bit down against his shoulder, and that seemed to be the gesture that caused him to finish.   
  
Time passed.  
  
Neither of them, it seemed, was particularly inclined to move. Segundus let his head rest against Childermass's back. Childermass had taken hold of Segundus' hand once more, linking their fingers where they pressed against his chest. Their bodies were very warm and the whole room had a drowsy feeling. All of that electrical tension had passed.   
  
Eventually the air cooled, and the sweat dried on their bodies. Segundus shivered and attempted to grope for a blanket without moving himself from Childermass's body. In this he was unsuccessful. Childermass shifted to reach it. Segundus made a petulant sound at being disturbed by the motion, curling more tightly around him, and Childermass said drily, "There's gratitude for you."   
  
Segundus settled the blanket over them. He stroked Childermass's arm. After a while he said, as though continuing a conversation that they were in the midst of, "I do not wish you to go."  
  
Childermass said, "If you think I'll go after this—! I am a far cruder man than you would accredit."  
  
Segundus made an exasperated sound. Then he said hesitantly, "So that was— You enjoyed—"  
  
Childermass lifted his hand and pressed a lingering kiss to it. He did not say anything immediately. "It pleases me to give you what you desire," he said at last. "It pleases me a great deal. When I can."   
  
Segundus thought about this. He said, "But you cannot always."  
  
"I cannot be other than what I am." Childermass half-shrugged against him, a gesture of discomfort. "I cannot not be..."  
  
He could have filled the silence in many ways. "I know," Segundus said.  
  
"I will not apologize for it."  
  
"You do not have to."  
  
"Do I not?" Childermass directed a faintly mocking glance at him.  
  
"No," Segundus said. "You have misunderstood me. Or— I have made myself misunderstood." He felt his grip on Childermass tighten. He found that he was not quite able, still, to speak about his dreams or the terrible, sourceless, flooding fears that overwhelmed him at times. He said, "I could not bear to lose you, you know, if something were to... Only you do not know, I think. You do not have quite the same..."  
  
"No," Childermass said. He turned so that he was facing Segundus. "i have made myself misunderstood. I do. I have. But I do not very well know what I can do about the matter. I cannot give you what you desire if what you desire is that I be—"  
  
"Safe," Segundus said.  
  
Childermass said, "Invulnerable."  
  
Segundus touched his face. "That is not what I want."  
  
"Then tell me what you want, and I will give it you."  
  
Segundus considered this for a long time, stroking his hand along the line of Childermass's cheek. "Right now I principally want to sleep," he said. He felt quite worn out, wrung like a piece of damp cloth. "Though I suppose I should wash."  
  
"Well," Childermass said, "that I can give you."  
  
And give it he did, though he proved to be rather long-suffering about it, and complained about the amount of water Segundus required, as well as his general finickiness.  
  
"It is all just a matter of bodies," he pointed out.  
  
"It is a matter of my body," Segundus said, "and if you wish to continue enjoying it, you will tolerate me."  
  
"I tolerate you a great deal," Childermass said. But he was reaching up for Segundus with gentle arms, and pulling him down against him more tightly than was his wont, pressing silent kisses to various parts of his body, and Segundus heard an obscure part of the message.   
  
"I tolerate you a great deal more," he said drowsily.   
  
He felt Childermass's huff of laughter.   
  
"Go to sleep," Childermass said.

* * *

Sometime in the night, Segundus was awoken by a vague sense that someone was doing magic. He did not recognize the magic. It was not Childermass's magic, which was all burnt heather and pipe smoke, and which always had something suddenly obscure about it, as though a flame in the room had just been extinguished. Nor was it the magic of any of Starecross's children, which tended to give Segundus the impression of wildflowers: scrawny, bright, a bit haphazard. Mr Honeyfoot hardly practised magic, to tell the truth, and Miss Redruth, when she visited from York, did magic that suggested chanting in a cool Mediaeval style. 

This was none of those sorts of magic. Segundus, still half-dozing, could not quite make it out. For some reason he thought of a very long black coat, which had hundreds and hundreds of pockets sewn onto the inside, and within each of these pockets a hundred more. He got lost thinking of all of those pockets. It seemed a comfortable notion, a comfortable coat, and for a while he felt distinctly as though he himself were in one of the pockets— and Childermass, who was sleeping curled around him; he was there, too. 

 _Well, that is good,_ Segundus thought hazily. _That is where we are supposed to be_. He reached for Childermass's arm and pulled it more snugly against him, turning a little to press his face into Childermass's chest. Childermass screwed up his nose in his sleep and looked positively confounded for a moment, but after a while he seemed to relax, and mumbled something about "printing it in octavo" before drooling onto Segundus's head. It seemed, all things considered, a happy situation, and Segundus fell back to sleep very quickly like that. 

In the morning he was awoken by the sound of knocking. This was a significantly less pleasant waking experience than the sensation of magic had been, and as the knocking seemed to be coming from the Starecross main door rather than the door to the bedroom, he was not particularly eager to deal with it. He was very warm, and very sleepy, and being pleasantly suffocated by Childermass. None of these served as an inducement to leave the bed.

The knocking came again, louder than before.

"No," Segundus said. He burrowed under Childermass's arm.

Childermass made a vague sound of agreement.

"John Childermass!" shouted a loud, shrill, and rather sly London voice. "I know you're in there!"

Childermass groaned and fitted a pillow over his head. 

"Why is he here?" Segundus moaned. He refused to open his eyes. "Why is he here so _early?_ "

"Because he is a damned nuisance in every way that a man can manage," Childermass said indistinctly into the bed.

"Perhaps he will go away," Segundus offered hopelessly. He did not believe it. Once Vinculus decided that he desired someone's attention, he would not be put off by any method known to man. "Perhaps he will be distracted by a cow. Or an eagle."

Childermass sighed heavily and shifted.

"No," Segundus protested, sensing his intent.

"You stay; I will go out and deal with him." 

Childermass pried himself from Segundus's insistent grasp and stumbled about the room making a great deal of noise, occasionally knocking things over and muttering under his breath. Segundus sighed and sat up, blinking blearily and feeling irritable. "I am awake now," he complained. 

Childermass, buttoning his waistcoat, glanced at him. "You do not look it."

"I am awake, and I wish you to come back to bed."

"I will return in a moment." Childermass shrugged on his coat and bent to press a kiss to the top of Segundus's head. Segundus frowned at him.

At this point, inexplicably, Vinculus burst into the bedroom. He was, as usual, approximately half-dressed, and he was wearing a look that might charitably have been called petulant. "You!" he said, pointing to Childermass. "What have you done?"

"Why are you in my bedroom?" Segundus asked, caught between befuddlement and indignation.

"I am not in _your_ bedroom; I am in _his_ bedroom," Vinculus retorted. "I cannot help it if the two are one and the same!"

Childermass looked as though he had developed a headache. "Downstairs," he told Vinculus very pointedly.

Vinculus threatened him with an accusatory finger. "You have been messing about in my business, reader!"

"I have not," Childermass said rather sulkily. "I have been sleeping, as I would prefer to be now, as I _would_ still be now, if some lunatic had not—"

"Look!" Vinculus demanded, yanking his very dirty shirt out of his trousers. He pointed at some bit of writing just below his ribs. "You see?"

Childermass squinted at him. Segundus was performing the opposite act, in that he was trying very hard not to see the writing, or indeed any part of Vinculus.

"I suppose it is a little altered," Childermass admitted after a pause.

"A little? A little, he says!" Vinculus pulled a comically astonished face. "A little altered! I had just been getting used to inhabiting what I said! I was not ready to say something different!"

"It is not _very_ different," Childermass said.

"And how would you know? You have not been in my skin, have you?" Vinculus crossed his arms across his chest in a sullen manner.

"I have spent a very great deal of time looking at it. To my regret." Childermass had a thoughtful look that suggested he was not really paying attention. He said suddenly, "Show me that again."

Vinculus jutted his jaw out in a very mulish fashion. "Why should I?"

"Well, if you are going to blame it on me—"

Segundus, meanwhile, sat rather wearily in the middle of his bed, wishing fervently that he might go back to sleep, preferably with Childermass— though that was an increasingly negotiable part of the equation. "Excuse me," he tried in a small voice.

Childermass was prying up Vinculus's shirt, as Vinculus flailed ineffectually at him. Neither of them took any notice of Segundus. "This is my private body!" Vinculus was indignantly insisting, as Childermass said, "Stop being so bloody ridiculous!" He jerked at the very stained hem of the shirt. Vinculus batted his hands at his face. 

Segundus cleared his throat. "Excuse me!" he said very loudly.

The two of them stopped. 

"I am _naked_ ," Segundus pointed out.

Vinculus only leered at him, but Childermass, at least, looked somewhat abashed. 

"We will take the conversation downstairs," he said.

Thus Segundus could at least be fully dressed when, a short while later, over an ameliorating cup of tea, Childermass attempted to explain what the fuss had been about. 

"It is a new spell," he said. He was seated at the breakfast table, but he was not paying any mind to his tea; he had copied out the new letters from Vinculus's body and was absorbed in notating them according to some mysterious system of his own. His whole face had gone rather absent, and he seemed not to notice that he had gotten ink all down the forefinger of his left hand. 

"Oh," Segundus said a little forlornly. He had hoped to enjoy at least a day or two of Childermass before some new matter contrived to claim his attention. But a new spell that needed translating was the sort of thing that Childermass could not resist. "I thought you had not deciphered any spells."

"No, I have done," Childermass said, squinting at the page, "but one proved to be a recipe, and the other described a sort of folk dance, so I am not certain I have done so correctly."

"Oh." 

There was a silence. The pen scratched.

"What was the recipe for?" Segundus enquired.

Childermass frowned and crossed out a line. "Eels," he said.

"Oh." Segundus's tea had grown lukewarm, but he took another sip of it. Outside the window, in the garden, Vinculus was conspiring with the children— probably teaching then rude words and curses. Mr Honeyfoot had been pressed into duty as an ineffective chaperone for this outing. Segundus heard very faintly the sounds of his weary protest. He could not entirely understand the topic of this protest; he hoped he had imagined the words "army of wasps." He did not feel robust enough for an army of wasps. 

The silence dragged.

Segundus set his teacup down abruptly in its saucer. "Perhaps I will return to bed," he said. "I find I am not—"

Childermass looked up at him and his expression changed. "No," he said. He reached across the table and laid his hand atop Segundus's hand. "I will come with you. Only wait a moment."

"It is all right; I know I cannot expect—"

Childermass pulled a rueful face. "You may expect a bit more than to be rudely interrupted in your bed by street sorcerers, and immediately thereafter abandoned."

"Oh," Segundus said. But he said it in quite a different tone than before.

Childermass was still regarding him. His gaze had attained that black intensity it had when his concentration was fixed wholly upon one object. "Have I neglected you so much?" he said. It was not quite a jest. There was a note of genuine unhappiness contained somewhere within. "I am very sorry for it."

Segundus shrugged uncomfortably, casting his eyes down. "It cannot be helped."

Then Childermass smiled an almost child-like, delighted smile, one that had a secret in it. "It seems it can," he said. He held up the sheet of paper, which was covered in lines of his beautiful writing. 

Segundus could not quite make out the words. He frowned. "I do not understand what you mean."

"It is a spell for joining two mirrors together. I will need to work out the theory behind it. I believe it ties the road between them into a loop. A magician may walk from one to the next in no time at all."

"Oh!" Segundus said— in yet another tone altogether. "... You mean to say that we might join two mirrors so that when you are gone, I could visit you where you are?" Then, less certainly, "You would want such a thing?"

"No," Childermass said in a voice that implied Segundus was being profoundly stupid, and had he considered not being so stupid for a change? "I could visit you here. _That_ is what I want." 

"Oh," Segundus said. And this time his tone was very complicated, for it contained the outer edges of a wonder he could not quite communicate. He stared at Childermass. He had an idea he was blushing, but he could not seem to stop. "Really?"

"Of course," Childermass said. "If you will have me."

"Don't be stupid," Segundus said rather shakily. "I told you—"

"I know," Childermass said. "I am glad; one grows very tired of sleeping upon all the moors of England."

Segundus covered his mouth to hide his smile. He said, "I see how it is. You have decided to exploit me for my considerable wealth, and my fine house, and my feather bed."

"Yes," Childermass said. "In fact, I should like to exploit you right now, preferably upon your feather bed."

To which Segundus had no objection at all, and— this being the case— they stumbled upstairs with a great amount of clumsy kissing and knocking-into of furnishings and tripping on stairs, for they were as giddy as children on a holiday morning when they wake to find they have gotten their heart's desire, and so sustain the belief for just a little longer that the world is more than abundant and magic is real.

 


End file.
